


see the light, hear the hum

by tinyvessels (sundazed)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Slice of Life, wonu has impostor syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28405326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundazed/pseuds/tinyvessels
Summary: Soonyoung knows all the quiet ways to love Wonwoo.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi
Comments: 25
Kudos: 96





	see the light, hear the hum

**Author's Note:**

> This one was prompted by a tweet/piece of art that went viral a couple months back about looking at the sky seven times a day being the key to happiness. 
> 
> My humble gift to the soonwoo tag before the year ends. I hope you enjoy (・.・;)
> 
> [listen](https://open.spotify.com/track/6AYFKOPbmd12rUP5DalRwB?si=ZIu5L1H1R2uBgxDNMjpQpw)

Junhui can be full of shit sometimes.

This does not, in any way, reduce his status as one of the few people Wonwoo would take a bullet for, but in the fifteen years Wonwoo has known Junhui, he’s inadvertently put the both of them in sticky situations that stemmed completely from one of Junhui’s “harmless” white lies. So nobody can really blame Wonwoo when he doesn’t immediately heed his advice: a little trick involving little windows of his day and the sky.

That doesn’t stop Wonwoo from thinking about it this morning though.

“The key to happiness,” Junhui had tipsily declared at Soonyoung and Wonwoo’s housewarming party, “is to look at the sky seven times a day.”

That sends the entire living room into a fit of laughter, as the question Seokmin had thrown at him had been about Junhui’s daughter’s new puppy.

“I told you to take it easy,” reprimanded Minghao, smiling fondly and taking away Junhui’s third glass of orange martini. “But yes, this drunk cutie _sort of_ has a point. I had that in mind when I was working on this project with Soonyoung and Wonwoo.”

Minghao smiled and tilted his glass knowingly at them, always in that signature Minghao way where he looks like he knows more than he should.

That was around a month ago, a few weeks after emptying the last of their seemingly endless moving boxes. A little party to celebrate another milestone in their relationship with close friends, also witnesses of their growth—together and apart.

When they were looking for someone to redesign the house they’d found and fell in love with, Wonwoo only had Minghao in mind. He’d met him in university a lifetime ago, in a dingy bar where Minghao used to work on weekends, back when they both thought they’d end up in careers that aren't the one they’re in now.

Even then, Minghao carried himself with an intimidating confidence Wonwoo wished he had; dancing behind the counter with elegant hands, Minghao always looked like he owned the place, yet at the same time, looked like he was meant to be somewhere fancier, having people wait on him, instead of catering to smashed college students searching for answers at the bottom of shot glasses.

His decision to switch majors—from Performing Arts to Architecture—had been a shock to Wonwoo. _I fell in love with something else_ , Minghaohad said. But it made sense, in a way, that he’d chosen to change paths halfway through, and Wonwoo always envied Minghao’s backbone for that.

Designed in a way that they could get a glimpse of the sky everywhere they go, their modest two-bedroom house sits on a hill away from the main roads. With floor-to-ceiling windows, which Soonyoung and Wonwoo had always wanted, Jeju’s picturesque views are an everlasting guest.

It was open, and at the same time gave them the privacy Seoul couldn’t offer. It took a lot of energy to figure out the logistics _of everything,_ but, like most things, they managed to make it work.

(Also took a lot of getting used to shitting in the morning with an expanse of greenery as a view, but they managed to cross that bridge, too.)

Junhui’s drunken words echo in Wonwoo’s mind today, and before he could even catch himself doing it, Wonwoo looks up at the sky.

The weather has been particularly wonky lately. With the rain visiting them yesterday, and sunlight streaming uninvited (though not unwelcome) into their kitchen through the window overhead today, Wonwoo finds his mood waxing and waning as well. Which, truthfully, makes no sense at all.

He’s sitting in the kitchen, in his house that he’d always dreamt of building with Soonyoung, on this lovely, peaceful Saturday morning. At his feet, Mimi purrs, satisfied, in her sleep. On the fridge, alongside pictures and souvenirs from their travels, Wonwoo spots the flyer for Soonyoung’s dance studio, which has had full classes since three weeks ago, an indication of good business despite initial apprehension.

Today, Wonwoo has one last book signing event in Seoul for his latest book’s promotional cycle, before he’s free to work on the stories he’s shelved for a while again.

The food is good, the sex is _astounding_ , the limited edition One Punch Man Corelle plates they’d ordered are set to arrive next week. Save for the itch in his throat, everything is well.

Sipping on his tea, Wonwoo thinks about chalking up the gloomy feeling completely to the weather.

Wonwoo’s too engrossed in finding the answer to his conundrum in the clouds rolling by that he doesn’t notice Soonyoung, morning glory and all, padding into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Soonyoung greets, voice still hoarse from sleep. He slumps himself on the chair opposite Wonwoo and rubs at his eyes. Even in their thirties, Wonwoo still finds _this_ Soonyoung adorable. “You should’ve woken me up.”

Wonwoo slides the plate of scrambled eggs to Soonyoung’s side of the table. “You looked peaceful, like you were dreaming of my pretty face. I didn’t want to rid you of that pleasure.”

Soonyoung scoffs, then a smile tugs at his lips upward. “You’re always prettier in real life,” he says, almost the same tone he uses when he humors his younger students.

Pushing aside his plate and the book he has dutifully abandoned for now, Wonwoo watches Soonyoung sleepily shove a forkful of eggs into his mouth. His loose muscle tee shows off Soonyoung’s toned arms deliciously, but Soonyoung’s freckles dusting his puffed up cheeks like cocoa powder on the fluffiest bed of marshmallow balances it all out. Perfect combination of sweet and spicy, the same way Wonwoo likes his tteokbokki.

Wonwoo stealthily takes a quick photo and laughs soundlessly to himself (Soonyoung will _definitely_ smack Wonwoo for comparing him to food again _and_ taking another candid photo) as fondness balloons in his chest at the sight of Soonyoung’s confused stare.

Wonwoo shakes his head and schools his expression into faux contemplation. He walks to the coffee maker to get Soonyoung his morning cup even though he’s closer to it. Wonwoo likes doing it for Soonyoung, so he never minds.

“You need to buy eggs today, babe, I think,” Wonwoo looks around the kitchen, struggling to remember what else they could need, “and garlic, soy sauce...and milk. We’re out of milk.”

Soonyoung excitedly proposes, “Let’s go toge—oh, it’s _Saturday_ ”—he grimaces at the realization—“You’re leaving today.”

Wonwoo sets Soonyoung’s mug in front of him before placing a careful kiss atop his bedhead. “It’s only for a day.” He sits back down and smiles into the rim of his mug because of the cute pout Soonyoung’s sporting. “I’ll be back before you can find yourself a sugar baby on Tinder.”

Unfazed, Soonyoung juts out his lips more. Sad eyes, slumped shoulders, crossed arms—like this, Soonyoung doesn’t look much different from the four-year-old in the pictures Mama Kwon had shown Wonwoo the first time Soonyoung took him home to Maseok. Like this, Wonwoo can’t help but be endeared. Soonyoung huffs, “But I don’t like sleeping alone.”

“Oh?” Wonwoo cradles his chin with his hand. “Keyword, _alone_. Which means you can sleep if there was another body in the room. And the person that body belongs to doesn't have to be me. Is that right?”

“Fucking semantics.” Soonyoung rolls his eyes. Not a second later, he’s rounding the table and sitting on Wonwoo’s lap, bare legs straddling him and arms easily bracketing Wonwoo’s neck.

Smiling sweetly, Soonyoung says, “I only have room on my bed for”—Soonyoung pecks Wonwoo’s nose—“ _you_.”

”You barely have room for all _your_ limbs, sleeping ninja.”

“Have I told you how cute you are when you scrunch your nose when you laugh?”

Wonwoo adjusts his glasses, then consciously stops himself from wrinkling his nose. “Flattery will get you nowhere, babe.”

“Hey, I wasn’t—“

Wonwoo cuts Soonyoung off with a quick kiss on the corner of his lips. “It’ll be quick.” Wonwoo wraps his arms around Soonyoung, trapping him but leaving enough distance to witness Soonyoung’s pout melt in defeat. “You’ll survive. We can talk on the phone till you fall asleep.”

Instead of meeting his gaze, Soonyoung’s eyes stay trained on Wonwoo’s lips. Soonyoung’s always so loud with his affection without even speaking, it makes Wonwoo buckle so easily.

“You haven’t been using that lip balm I bought you,” Soonyoung mumbles with pinched eyebrows, “Your lips are _so—_ “

Soonyoung yelps in surprise when Wonwoo catches his soft, plump bottom lip with his dry, chapped (probably what Soonyoung would’ve said) ones. Cutting Soonyoung off with a kiss is amusing, how there’s the faintest flicker of annoyance before he’s kissing Wonwoo back with as much depth and fervor.

It’s so easy to get drunk on Soonyoung’s taste in Wonwoo’s mouth, so easy to give as much as he receives.

Every kiss feels like the first, how it sends butterflies to his stomach before setting his insides on fire till he’s reduced to a needy pile of ash. Yet at the same time, every kiss is _nothing_ like the first; no fumbling, no second-guessing. There’s only an ever-growing familiarity with each kiss that makes it all the more mindfucking. Wonwoo knows Soonyoung likes it when he works on Soonyoung’s bottom lip, and Soonyoung takes advantage of the knowledge that it drives Wonwoo _insane_ when Soonyoung’s lips leave his mouth to lick the angles of Wonwoo’s jaw.

At one point, Soonyoung frustratingly takes Wonwoo’s glasses off his face and stretches his arm to place it gently on the table before lunging at Wonwoo’s face again, better access now that he’s gotten rid of their usual makeout obstacle.

(It’s Wonwoo’s third pair this year and it’s only July.)

Soonyoung pulls away slightly, hands playing with the hairs on the nape of Wonwoo’s neck. Hot breath against Wonwoo’s lips, “Hmm, you taste lemony.”

Breathless, Wonwoo explains, “Honey lemon tea. My throat kind of hurts.”

Soonyoung, whose eyes comically grow twice their size, pushes Wonwoo slightly. “Then you _definitely_ shouldn’t go!”

“I have to,” Wonwoo says, firm, “I’ll be okay.”

“Should I come with you?” Chewing on his lip (it’s a shiny, cherry red right now; the mere sight of it makes Wonwoo _crave_ ), Soonyoung contemplates it a quick second before sighing quite dramatically. “Ah, no, I can’t. I scheduled a class in the afternoon.”

He plants a delicate kiss on Wonwoo’s neck. “Feel better.”

Wonwoo laughs softly and traps Soonyoung’s bottom lip, soft and delicate, one final time before announcing, “I should get ready.”

“Yes, you _definitely_ should,” Soonyoung says without removing himself from Wonwoo’s lap. Restless, wandering hands slipping beneath fabric.

Soonyoung peppers Wonwoo’s cheek with kisses, then more on his jaw, on the base of his ear, his collarbones. Wonwoo should _really_ get ready, but Soonyoung’s lips feel like raindrops on his skin, gentle yet overwhelming.

“Soonyoung—you _can’t—_ ”

Too late. Soonyoung places one final kiss on Wonwoo’s exposed collarbone before sucking down on it, hard enough that Wonwoo knows it’s going to leave a bruise the size of Jeju, a prelude of shame if anyone sees it. He shudders. If Soonyoung weren’t pinning him on the chair, he would have crashed down to the floor.

“My flight's in two hours,” Wonwoo cups Soonyoung’s cheeks, barely stopping him from planting another on his neck. “Soonyoung-ah,” he pleads into Soonyoung’s mouth. “You’re killing me.”

Soonyoung only laughs and dives in for another kiss, deep enough to activate another symphony of sensations: the smell of their fabric conditioner mixing with sweat, the taste of coffee and eggs and lust in Soonyoung’s mouth, the orchestra of moans and whimpers, the glimpses of Soonyoung’s hooded eyes when they pause to breathe. And there’s so much to _feel_. Frantic fingers retracing its steps on Wonwoo’s skin, _his_ hands on Soonyoung’s ass, boner lighting a fire with friction on his thighs, tongue forging a path in his mouth.

Wonwoo feels Soonyoung _everywhere_ , there is no room for breathing nor thinking.

Wonwoo chases Soonyoung’s lips when it leaves his mouth to streak a litany of kisses on his neck, a trail of sparklers setting off on his skin. “Mhm, that gives us time to do it twice then,” whispers Soonyoung.

The sound Wonwoo makes at the back of his throat does nothing to tame the mischief in Soonyoung’s eyes. “I hate you _so much_.”

“Oh _, really_ ,” Soonyoung laughs against Wonwoo’s lips, flattening a palm on Wonwoo’s crotch, “Your dick says otherwise, you duck.”

Overhead, the Seoul sky welcomes Wonwoo with a low grumble. It’s significantly colder than Wonwoo remembers.

The button-down shirt he’d taken eons to choose for today is indefinitely trapped in his closet in Jeju again, as he’s swapped it out for Soonyoung’s juniper turtleneck. A choice made initially to veil Soonyoung’s massive multichromatic masterpiece around his neck, it now keeps him warm in the city he once loved.

“You look sexy in green,” Soonyoung appraised Wonwoo with hands on his hips from across the room.

“Really?” Wonwoo spun around, worried. “I don’t look like a head of broccoli?”

Soonyoung threw his head back. “Regardless, _you_ look edible.”

“I can be sexy in any color you like.” Wonwoo had winked, but with the way Soonyoung reacted (an uninhibited, borderline offensive snort), he may have missed that free throw.

Concern suddenly etched in his face, Soonyoung walked over and reached up to fix Wonwoo’s hair. “Don’t you dare wink at anyone today, got it? It’s for your own good.”

Wonwoo’s looking at his lock screen now, the photo of a bleary-eyed Soonyoung that he took this morning. Even when Soonyoung isn’t here physically with him like all the other times, Wonwoo feels extra warm because of him.

**_wen junhui_ ** _[11:04 AM]_

_> hey jeon_

_> you’re in seoul??_

**_Wonwoo_** [11:10 AM]

_Just landed, yeah <_

**_wen junhui_ ** _[11:11 AM]_

_> that explains it _

_> lol_

_> check twitter _

Part of Wonwoo regrets teaching Soonyoung how to use social media. Soonyoung used to be technologically-challenged, always seeking out Wonwoo’s help to download Instagram or fix his Facebook profile picture (because all it showed was his crotch); now his phone is an extension of his hand. One of these days Wonwoo might have to resort to hurling it into the sea, and he’ll make sure no one ever finds out it was him.

**HOSHI _@kwonhosh_**

_Hour 3 w/o @jeonww: I’m in the dairy aisle, reminded of the scrambled eggs Wonwoo made for me this morning. The atmosphere continues to plummet into abysmal glum._

**|**

**HOSHI @kwonhoshi**

_(Everyone please cheer him on for his book signing today!) #IHearYouInBlue_

**|**

**Jeon Wonwoo #IHearYouInBlue _@jeonww_**

_You are so dramatic. (Thank you :*)_

**|**

**HOSHI _@kwonhosh_**

_That’s the point. Duh. 🦆_

When Wonwoo gets out of the cab, the smell of petrichor hits his nose first before the assault of raindrops come crashing down on him _everywhere_. He dashes to the hotel entrance, and _bless_ his long legs because he’s only slightly damp and mildly peeved once he reaches the glass doors.

“Everything good, sir?” The receptionist asks as she hands him his keycard after checking him in.

Objectively, the answer is no. But the easy answer, the one that tumbles out of his mouth is, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good, thanks.”

Maybe some days are just more sour than the rest.

With glass panels stretched over half of the atrium’s ceiling, the looming grey clouds follow Wonwoo inside.

When the staff finishes dabbing his nose with concealer, Wonwoo finds that there’s ten minutes left till the book signing is due to start. With only the tarpaulin separating him from the throng of people (His fans? Avid readers?) waiting for him, Wonwoo feels another wave of apprehension.

Wonwoo is no stranger to events like this. It’s been a couple of years, but Wonwoo still isn’t immune to feeling as if he were sneaking into some sort of exclusive party and that they would all one day see through his waxed hair and thin-rimmed glasses and throw him out.

His mind wanders, and the internet is always welcoming of the wandering mind, though not exactly hospitable.

On the internet, everybody thinks they have a license to make everyone feel small.

Words hurt, Wonwoo knows. And people will talk, they always do and they always will. Wonwoo’s career is built upon _words_ , and he’s well-acquainted with the power and potential they hold.

In the hands of the cruel, words become daggers piercing through paper-thin skin, pain seeping into nerves and radiating through every single fiber of one’s being. Wonwoo is no stranger to this feeling.

But one can also always find solace in words; Wonwoo knows this, too.

When Wonwoo was a kid, his favorite story was about a china rabbit named Edward Tulane. Wonwoo liked it then because Mom always read it to him with her honey voice as her free hand carded delicately through his hair. Safe, was the feeling he always had. Safe and warm.

Years later, when Wonwoo read the story again, he learned to appreciate it for what it was: a story of getting lost, having everything you once cherished taken away from you, and eventually finding your way back home.

His fondness for the story, Wonwoo realized, was rooted in the comfort he found in the words it held. How the words made him feel like a kid in his bedroom again, his head in his mother’s arms, falling asleep to the tune of her voice reading the words aloud to him as the world continued to spin outside without him.

Wonwoo wishes he had Soonyoung beside him now. Wishes Soonyoung could tell him everyone here today came here because they adore his books for the stories it held, the stories he’d spent _years_ building with his own hands. Not just because they want to see his pretty face. Wishes Soonyoung could hold his hand and tell him everything will be alright. That Wonwoo will be okay.

“You okay?” Seungcheol, sitting beside him and handing him a warm can of coffee, pulls him out of his reverie.

“Yeah.” Wonwoo pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just kind of short on sleep. I had an idea late last night, couldn’t wait till morning.”

Seungcheol smiles. “That’s good, then.”

The can opens with a pop. Self-consciousness suddenly seeping through his skin, Wonwoo asks, “Why? Do I look that bad, hyung? Is the concealer failing me? Jihyun said it’s the same kind Park Bogum uses.”

There’s a momentary panic in his expression before Seungcheol starts chuckling. “Relax. You just looked a little out of it. You nervous?

“Maybe. But I’m good, yeah,” Wonwoo sits up straight, stretching his neck and shoulders to help ease the tension.

“I’m proud of you,” Seungcheol says out of nowhere. “Less as your manager, more as a big brother.”

Seungcheol usually jerks away like a worm sprinkled with the slightest dash of salt/sentimentality, so Wonwoo basks in the rare moment.

Jokingly, he takes out his phone and points the camera at Seungcheol. “Can you repeat that, hyung?”

Yet Seungcheol doesn’t push it away or turn his back on him. Instead, he looks straight into it with a cocktail of tenderness and determination that penetrates through the screen. “Wonwoo, I’m proud of you. You’re doing so, so well.”

“You’re scaring me,” Wonwoo jokes, but he feels some of the weight dissipate as he pockets his phone.

It’s in the way Seungcheol has always regarded him with a knowing gaze, even then. Like he always knew Wonwoo would do well, even when Wonwoo had nothing but his manuscript and a _then_ -far-fetched dream.

“Come on,” Seungcheol motions for Wonwoo to stand up, “Let’s get you out there.”

**HOSHI _@kwonhosh_**

_Hour 8.5 w/o @jeonww: Where are we currently, as a human race, in cloning advancements, you ask? I’m looking into it rn, and this is some next lvl Black Mirror shit._

**|**

  1. **Jeonghan _@yoonjeongz_**



_Stop wallowing and come over for dinner, you buffoon_

**|**

**HOSHI _@kwonhosh_**

_Can’t you see that I’m on the brink of enlightenment?_

**|**

  1. **Jeonghan _@yoonjeongz_**



_-_- we have beer and jokbal_

**|**

**HOSHI _@kwonhosh_**

_You’re evil >:( be there in 30_

“I’m at the hotel now,” says Wonwoo, letting his phone rest lazily on the bedside table. Judging from the background, Soonyoung‘s in Seokmin and Jeonghan’s kitchen. “Just finished taking a shower.”

”Dry your hair first, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung demands, his worry penetrating through the screen, forcing Wonwoo to rise from the bed with a huff. He’s looking for the hair dryer when Soonyoung speaks again, “You didn’t go to the team dinner?”

“My head hurt too much after the thing,” explains Wonwoo. “I stayed for the gratuitous thank you speech and excused myself. I felt bad but I just couldn’t do it,” Wonwoo pouts at the screen, “Nonu’s energy is depleted.”

“Okay,” Soonyoung mirrors the pout, “What about food?”

“Junhui sent over some food from the restaurant. Seems like business is doing really good. Xiaohui keeps looking for uncle Hochi apparently.”

Soonyoung giggles, fond. The two of them have formed quite the bond, and anyone with eyes and ears can tell Soonyoung is Xiaohui’s favorite uncle because of all the elaborate impressions he does when he reads her the books Wonwoo gives her.

She and Junhui are similar, in the way that their imagination runs utterly wild and they don’t have a lot of trouble expressing themselves—in _three languages,_ no less. But what she took after her father the most, perhaps, is the natural gift to lure people in with their warm eyes and then make them laugh with their wit and charisma.

And although Junhui’s doing a perfect job now, Wonwoo will never forget the memory of Junhui, tipsy and giggly, announcing that he was going to be a dad. Junhui, his best friend who once bought, boiled _and_ burnt secondhand underwear, was going to be a father. It was news bigger than an asteroid hitting the Earth that it left their entire friend group floundering and gasping for air.

Junhui was always the braver, more invincible one between the two of them. And yet for months, Wonwoo witnessed Junhui groping in the dark and losing sleep over the mortifying ordeal of raising a living, breathing human being. He vacillated from being ecstatic with the idea of a little human looking like him to wanting to make a run for it and looking up flights for Nebraska.

But something shifted in Junhui the summer Xiaohui came into his life. Wonwoo saw it, one clear moment: the restless flames simmering to a steady glow in Junhui’s eyes when he started sharing about Xiaohui’s first steps. It was a good look on Junhui, and Wonwoo saw that he was at his happiest.

Junhui has always been one of Wonwoo’s sturdiest rocks, and he continues to be, up to this day. Wonwoo looks forward to the day he can tell Xiaohui about the time her father almost burnt down his apartment because of a counterfeit hotdog grill he bought off a man he met at a suspicious street in Hongdae, though.

“Let’s go next month when we see our moms,” offers Soonyoung. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I already took an ibuprofen,” says Wonwoo, plugging in the hair dryer. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

There’s sudden shouting over on Soonyoung’s end, and Wonwoo ends up having to take out one of his earphones. “What was that about?”

“They’re watching The World of the Married,” explains Soonyoung, clicking his tongue. “Lee Tae Oh, that fucking bastard.”

Wonwoo laughs, “Don’t forget to remind them about bingo next week.”

“Already did,” Soonyoung says with a wink and rests his cheek on the palm of his hand. “Tell me if there’s anything bothering you, okay?”

The concern in Soonyoung’s voice is unmistakable, and Wonwoo doesn’t know what gave him away. He’s gone past the point of denying it, Soonyoung will see right through his gritted teeth anyway. But the problem is, Wonwoo doesn’t know exactly what’s bothering him yet so there’s nothing he can say other than, “I will. I promise.”

Exhaustion settling in his bones, Wonwoo yawns. “Soon-ah, would you hate me if I fell asleep first?”

“Maybe,” Soonyoung squints. “But I’d still love you in the morning. Dry your hair, ‘kay?”

Wonwoo turns on the dryer and makes a show of him running his hands through his hair. He stops when Soonyoung holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“You’ve worked hard, my duck,” Soonyoung drawls, tender and soft and warm—everything that this hotel room isn’t. “Call me if you wake up in the middle of the night.”

Wonwoo nods. “Don’t drink too much.”

Soonyoung, guiltily dragging his bottle of beer into view, smiles. “Love you, Nonu.”

**HOSHI _@kwonhosh_**

_hourb108” wihoutj @jeonww: wonu u r my only crushj_

**|**

**Xu Minghao _@Minghao_**

_dis u?_ [QUOTE RETWEET]

**|**

  1. **Jeonghan @yoonjeongz**



_He told me to tweet you to fuck off but keep going, Hao_

The Quote Retweet:

**HOSHI _@kwonhosh_**

_LEE TAEMIN IS THE LOVE OF MY FUCKING LIFE NO ONE ELSE COMES CLOSE_

**HOSHI _@kwonhosh_**

_Feel like shit. Barely slept a wink. Come back to me @jeonww ಥ_ಥ_

**|**

**_lee seokmin @leesk218_ **

_Liar, you were passed out drooling on our sofa ten minutes ago_

**|**

**JUN 😼 _@wenjun_**

**|**

_pics or it didn’t happen_

**|**

**Jeon Wonwoo #IHearYouInBlue @jeonww**

_@leesk218 @yoonjeongz Pls restrain him till I get back._

**|**

**HOSHI @kwonhosh**

_I AM NOT A FUCKING CHILD (Nonu come home to Soonyoung :c)_

“Jeon Wonwoo-ssi?”

Wonwoo damn near drops the snow globe he’s inspecting at the sudden mention of his name, not at all expecting for anyone to recognize him at the airport’s souvenir shop.

What meets him when he turns around are big brown apologetic eyes paired with a tight-lipped smile. Significantly shorter than Wonwoo, the stranger also looks a couple years younger than him.

Wonwoo doesn’t know why but his mind immediately lands on the assumption that he is one of Soonyoung’s subscribers. He braces himself for whatever flurry of questions he’ll potentially get bombarded with ( _“Where’s Hoshi?” “Is it true that Hoshi got to work with Taemin last month?” “Will Hoshi upload a new vlog soon?”_ ) and smiles politely.

There’s an evident delighted glint in the stranger’s eyes as his jaw drops to the floor. “Oh, it’s really you, _wow_!”

“Hello,” greeted Wonwoo, smiling shyly. Thankfully, the only other soul in the shop is the unbothered and bored-looking lady behind the counter.

“I’m a big fan of your work,” the stranger stammers out, his face breaking into a toothy grin.

Then all in one breath, he adds, “Wow, this is _amazing_. So cool, really”—he says something in...Mandarin? which Wonwoo doesn’t catch but hopes doesn’t equate to _I actually hate you_ , before shifting back to Korean—“sorry! Just really excited. Actually, I wanted to go to your book signing yesterday but the convention I was attending ran late and I just couldn’t get out of it. I was really bummed because I hoped I’d get to go and see you at the signing, but duty calls, y'know? I moved back to China, you see, so not many chances to meet my favorite author now. Which is you, by the way. So. Wow,” the stranger holds out a hand, “Hi, I’m Renjun.”

Wonwoo blinks back at him, the torrent of information still processing in his head. “Hello.”

Renjun smiles before inhaling sharply, “Would it be too much if I ask you to sign my--”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo says too quickly. “I mean no, it’s alright. I’ll sign it.”

His face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Thank you.”

Wonwoo smiles back, doesn’t tell him how the simple gesture has made _him_ happy.

**_Nonu_** [10:40 AM]

Waiting to board now <

I got you a Naruto snow globe! <

[PHOTO] <

**_Soonyoung_** 🥰 [10:47 AM]

> Wow~ coollll pretty

> The snow globe is cool too 😉

> But are u ok? You look like rudolph

**_Nonu_** [10:47 AM]

No :( <

My nose is runny, my head hurts <

Just want to curl up in bed :( <

**_Soonyoung_** 🥰 [10:48 AM]

> Oh no :( that’s not good :(

> Did you take meds?

> I’m kissing your cheek rn can you feel it

**_Nonu_** [10:49 AM]

😭😭😭 <

I did, yes to both <

Can’t wait to kiss u for real <

**_Soonyoung_** 🥰 [10:49 AM]

> Ew no ur snot is gross

> Get more sleep on the plane if you can

> Don’t you dare try to read or work!!! 😡

> Love you pls come home now

**_Nonu_** [10:50 AM]

I promise <

Boarding now. Text u when I land. Love you! <

🦆 <

His first trip with Soonyoung was three years ago.

Junhui had warned Wonwoo that a day trip to Daegu was a date; travelling to Tokyo meant tying himself down like a ship mooring on the first island it finds and never setting sail again. Wonwoo had waved him off, told Junhui he didn’t know what he was saying.

It had only been a year since Wonwoo started dating Soonyoung then, and the trip was booked out of a drinking game gone wrong. The realization dawned like a flash flood on Wonwoo’s hungover brain the morning after, but by then, Soonyoung had his heart in the palm of his hand. Wonwoo simply could not say no.

Filing a vacation leave from the engineering firm where Wonwoo had only been working at for a year was nothing short of walking through fire, but watching an effervescent Soonyoung rattle on about their itinerary was enough reason for Wonwoo to let go of all trepidation once it was approved.

Before Soonyoung, Wonwoo’s life had been anchored on safe choices and undisturbed by risk and recklessness. But jacked up on Sapporo underneath the neon blue lights of Shibuya with a kaleidoscope of humanity shuffling around them and Soonyoung’s hand anchoring him, Wonwoo figures, maybe spontaneity doesn’t always have to be terrifying.

In his head, Wonwoo could already see Junhui grinning at him like a mad man with unspoken conceit at the accuracy of his own judgment.

Most of the photos Wonwoo took from that trip were of Soonyoung, jaws wide open and eyes scrunched in pleasure, eager to bite down into whatever appetizing dish had caught their eyes on the menu board that they had close to no idea how to navigate with Soonyoung’s rusty grasp of the language as their only compass.

 _I’m like a tiger_ , Soonyoung commented when he was scrolling through the photos. _You know, when they bare their teeth right before they pounce on their prey._

The simile made Wonwoo laugh. Soonyoung always makes Wonwoo laugh.

(Maybe if they opened Wonwoo’s heart, they’d find Soonyoung’s bite marks there, too.)

Wonwoo finished what would become his first published book two months after that trip. A year later, he won the Daesan Literary Award. He sent in his resignation letter to the firm the day after.

Then Wonwoo asked Soonyoung to marry him the year after that.

Soonyoung said no.

_Because I wanted to be the one to propose!_

_You’re insufferable,_ whined Wonwoo, smiling into the kiss when Soonyoung finally agreed after much fanfare.

Eyes wrinkling into satisfied crescents, Soonyoung teased, _And you just can’t get enough of me, can you?_

****

The sun shines brightly over Jeju when Wonwoo’s plane lands.

Wonwoo sees Soonyoung and Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major starts playing in his head.

He’d always liked Soonyoung’s natural dark hair more than the blonde he used to parade around with (though Wonwoo can confirm Soonyoung looks delectable in _any_ hair color, perhaps even neon orange, even though Wonwoo almost strangled Junhui for putting that idea in Soonyoung’s head). Point blank, Soonyoung is criminally sexy with black hair.

“The love of my life is back!” Soonyoung, arms spread wide, enthusiastically says in lieu of a hello. His tone changes completely, however, when Wonwoo engulfs him in an embrace with all the energy he has left in him, “Oh, but Seoul didn’t treat you well, you poor thing.”

“I’m tired,” Wonwoo murmurs into the crook of Soonyoung’s neck. Wonwoo lets himself sink into Soonyoung’s arms around him, malleable like iron underneath the warmth of his touch, molding into the crevices of Soonyoung’s body against his. But Soonyoung’s touch, the familiar scent and comfort, establishes another conundrum: there are hot, dense tears threatening to spill out of Wonwoo’s eyes. Heavy, looming.

Suddenly, Wonwoo is the clumsy, lanky little kid in Changwon again, searching desperately for refuge and reassurance after falling off his bike and grazing his knees on the pavement. He’d put up a strong facade all the way home, hyper-aware that if he cried in front of his friends, he’d be the butt of their jokes for a month (which feels like forever for a ten year old). But as soon as little Wonwoo passed through their gates, entered the imperceptible confines of their home, and spotted Mom collecting the laundry to bring inside, the dam broke, urgent and uncontrollable. Hot, heavy tears streaked and snot dribbled down Wonwoo’s face all the way to Mom, whose face had been distorted in concern and slight terror at the sight of his banged up knees. Abandoned for the rest of the summer, his bike lay on the ground as Mom collected him in a tight, soul-healing embrace.

 _I’m here. You’ll be okay,_ Wonwoo, Mom had whispered that afternoon, all those years ago, and many more times thereafter.

Out in the open, it was almost mandatory to pretend to have his shit together to appease people’s perception of what a “successful“ grown adult should be. But here, where Wonwoo feels simultaneously the most safe and vulnerable, it’s difficult to ignore the pang of fear and sting of self-doubt demanding his attention.

“I’m here,” Soonyoung whispers now when Wonwoo fails at stifling a sob into the collar of Soonyoung’s coat. “You’ll be okay, love.”

Moving out of their shared apartment in Seoul had been a decision born out of their mutual need for privacy as the both of them steadily gained the general public’s interest. Between Soonyoung’s YouTube channel gaining more traction and Wonwoo’s third book selling out before it could even hit the shelves, the both of them were simultaneously grateful for and weary of the attention.

Soonyoung’s choreography videos and personal vlogs, which were initially meant for their friends’ and families’ viewing pleasure, have drawn a sizable audience—two million people (and _counting_ ) subscribed to and weirdly invested in a polished, street-level view of their life.

Soonyoung likes the attention, to an extent. He likes seeing the number go up with every new video he uploads. Goes apeshit when he gets recognized by and asked to work with people he admires in the industry. _Loves_ that people adore Mimi and Wonwoo almost as much as he does.

Soonyoung gets _fired up_ when he talks about his dreams.

Where Wonwoo tends to overthink and second guess his decisions, once Soonyoung has zeroed in on what he wants, he always trudges head-on with undeterred passion and steadfast determination—his black belt in Taekwondo and rows of trophies from dance competitions he joined as a teenager tangible proof sitting in their family room in Maseok.

He spends long days and even longer nights practicing and perfecting a choreograph in his dance studio, till his bones are heavy as lead and Wonwoo has to, quite literally, drag him home.

Soonyoung gets a little snappy when he’s in the zone (everybody does) and he generally doesn’t like being told what to do, but he listens when Wonwoo reminds him to take better care of himself. And even though Wonwoo’s in constant worry that Soonyoung might be spreading himself too thin, Wonwoo always admired how Soonyoung, as a teenager, knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life, and like a horse with blinders, ran straight on to that very goal.

But years of being with him has taught Wonwoo that Soonyoung can only give so much of himself.

On video, Hoshi’s firecracker personality, punctuated by his adorable antics, always shines. But at home, Soonyoung enjoys that time of the day when he gets to breathe and sit in idyllic silence with Mimi on his lap and Wonwoo close beside him (which can be interchangeable).

Wonwoo reads the comments sometimes, perhaps more than he’d like to admit when he makes an appearance (he can’t help it), and their _viewers_ always found it amusing that the man doing an unboxing video of his custom-made tiger print office chair is the same man constantly getting acclaim for his inventive choreography.

Minghao once ascribed Soonyoung’s ability of compartmentalizing professional dancer/vlogger Hoshi and thirty-year-old introvert Soonyoung to his full Gemini birth chart, something Wonwoo will never have a full grasp on but will always be game to listen in on conversations about.

Soonyoung needs his peace, Wonwoo needs his peace. And ultimately, having a space they can call their own—they can finally call _their_ home—away from the buzz (albeit only physically) is exactly what they need.

Wonwoo wakes up in the late afternoon with a low-degree throbbing in his head and the feeling of Soonyoung’s fingers carding through his hair.

“Good, you’re awake.” Soonyoung grins endearingly from a chair beside the bed, where it seems like he’d spent half the day plastered to his phone. “Feeling better?”

With the sun sinking rapidly into the horizon, the room is drenched in sepia. The clear sky carries with it the promise of a starry night, and if Wonwoo weren’t nursing a headache, he would have proposed they invite Jeonghan and Seokmin for a barbecue.

“A little, yeah.” Wonwoo shuts his eyes again, willing the pounding to go away.

Soonyoung pokes at his side, a pout evident in his voice. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

Wonwoo concedes, feeling his energy dropping by the minute. “Did you order in?”

“Even better,” announces Soonyoung, practically bouncing off his seat, startling Mimi who was on his lap. “Wait right here.”

“This headache isn’t giving me the luxury to move,” Wonwoo throws an arm over his eyes, “so okay.”

Once the door clicks close, Wonwoo realizes there’s barely audible French jazz music, which Soonyoung usually complains about, playing through the speakers. Wonwoo smiles despite himself.

Soonyoung’s back in no time, struggling to balance a tray in his hands whilst holding the door wide enough with his foot. “Mimi, be useful and hold this open for me,” he jokes, already halfway in.

After a well-fought battle with the door, Soonyoung finally sits on the bed and delicately places the tray in front of Wonwoo. There’s a bowl of porridge with two sunny side up eggs on top, a glass of grape juice, and a few wedges of orange.

Pointing at the bowl, Soonyoung smiles, eyes disappearing in immensely adorable pride. “Like the one in Mulan.”

Warmth blooms in Wonwoo’s chest like vines crawling, wrapping inside him.

Love, but not in the way that it is often packaged and sold in pop culture. Love, sans fireworks, confetti, marching bands on a football field.

Love, in its quiet and candid ways—unprompted head rubs, love notes on the fridge, soft music playing from the speakers —and its cadence that anchors Wonwoo’s perpetually whirring mind.

“You’re the best, Mushu.”

Loving Soonyoung is easy.

It’s easy to slip into an argument on the dumbest of things. Easy to engage in a match of verbal ping pong, the rapid fire ball of frustration helplessly bouncing back between them. Easy for Wonwoo to announce that he’s _sleeping on the couch tonight_ after they’ve gone in circles about fifty times. To that, Soonyoung breezily says _fine then!_ before marching to their room and monopolizing their bed.

After an hour of tossing and turning and trying to find the most comfortable position for peaceful slumber on the couch that he could barely fit in, Wonwoo’s feet also easily find their way to the room at the end of the hallway.

But _okay—maybe_ building the courage to knock on the door takes a lot of time and Wonwoo doesn’t have the luxury of that at the moment. Maybe that’s why Wonwoo turns the knob as stealthily as possible, like a trespasser in his own home, instead of making his presence known first.

It’s easy. When Wonwoo finds Soonyoung, sitting on the unmade bed and blinking back at him in their charged silence. Completely awake. Biting his nails, feet tapping on the floor like a code.

It’s easy to conclude he’d been watching the door. Waiting, thinking.

It’s easy. For Wonwoo to walk in wordlessly and claim the space beside Soonyoung because he’d earned it a long time ago.

A minute passes. Hands on knees, hearts on sleeves. One deep breath, a slight shift to his left.

It’s easy.

_I couldn’t sleep._

Me, too.

_Can I sleep here?_

Only if you forgive me.

_I was being dumb._

Yeah, you were _, a_ nd I’m an idiot.

_I’m sorry._

I’m sorry, Wonwoo.

 _Okay_.

Alright _._

_I love you, Soonyoung._

Are you sure?

Wonwoo chuckles. He finds Soonyoung’s lips in the dark with his own.

_Yes. I’m sure._

Easy.

Wonwoo is in his home office a week later when Soonyoung pokes his head into the room.

“You don’t need to keep checking in on me, Soonyoung-ah,” Wonwoo says without looking up from his screen.

“I don’t check in on you for _you_ ,” Soonyoung scoffs. “I check in on you for me.”

“You do realize you’re not making any sense, right?”

Soonyoung crosses his arms. “Why have you been looking at the sky seven times a day?”

Soonyoung doesn’t say it accusingly, but Wonwoo reflexively feels like he has to defend himself. “I don’t look at the sky seven times a day.”

“You do. I know.” Soonyoung lifts his chin, holds his gaze like a weapon. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Junhui.”

Wonwoo watches as Soonyoung draws nearer, arms wide open. “What was your point?”

“I check on you to recharge.” Soonyoung sits effortlessly on Wonwoo’s lap and Wonwoo happily obliges. “Seeing you is _my_ key to happiness.”

“No, no, no, you can’t do that.”

Soonyoung feigns a scandalized look. “Why not?!”

“Because that makes me an asshole.”

A chuckle escapes Soonyoung’s mouth. “Well, you’re _my_ asshole.”

“Why did I marry you again?”

The embarrassment that burns in Wonwoo’s lungs is immediately extinguished by the cheeky glint in Soonyoung’s eyes. “For my charm and wit. And I, you, for the royalties.”

“Will you be _my_ asshole tonight?”

Soonyoung laughs loftily. It’s crazy, how the sound immediate;y pacifies Wonwoo’s worries and quells the fears of his heart.

“What? You married me for the great sex too, right?” Wonwoo catches Soonyoung’s bottom lip, mid-laughter.

Returning the kiss, Soonyoung mumbles against Wonwoo’s lips. “Oh, yeah, definitely.”

Maybe, Wonwoo’s allowed to be this happy after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I love soonwoo ;; n ;;
> 
> Thank you so much for giving this a shot. I started writing this in August and had to abandon it for months because of, well, life (｡•́︿•̀｡) Soonwoo and their beautiful friendship have been one of my favorite places of comfort recently, so I hope you leave with good feelings after reading this as well. 
> 
> Kudos, comments are highly appreciated! Leave some if you enjoyed, pretty please. I hope the year ahead treats you better than this one did! (っ⇀⑃↼)っ
> 
> I’m on [twitter!](http://twitter.com/mrgoldensuh)
> 
> late, but some notes on the tiny details if you’re into that:  
> \- Wonwoo’s latest book, I Hear You in Blue, is about a boy with synesthesia who navigates a post-apocalyptic world with his two best friends.  
> \- Snwu call each other duck because Soonyoung once butt-texted Wonwoo the 🦆 emoji and it just stuck  
> \- Seokhan are also married, yes, and were snwu’s very first friends on the island. They own a café at the foot of the hill, which is where Wonwoo met Jeonghan. Coincidentally, Soonyoung and Seokmin were in a play together when they were still in university.  
> \- Jun is a single dad; Xiaohui has a lot of uncles who love her very much.


End file.
